


Grounded

by TrulyCertain



Series: Nat Brosca [3]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3530966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyCertain/pseuds/TrulyCertain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Her fingers are still touching the wall. She’s been idly running her hand along it as she walks, the way he used to see some of the children in Redcliffe do. She does it with walls and sometimes, when she’s sitting, she’ll lay her palms flat on the floor and close her eyes. It’s brief, not the kind of thing you’d notice if you didn’t know her well, if you weren’t looking for it - and he’s been looking for it.</i> </p><p>Alistair asks Natia about an odd little habit she has. Her answer is surprising.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounded

It takes Alistair a while to spot it, and once he does, he can’t  _stop_ spotting it. He watches her do it, and he frowns and tries to work out why.

“Nat?” he tries one day. Somewhere along the way she stopped being  _Brosca,_ the only other Warden, and started being  _Nat_  - maybe sort of his best friend, the woman who laughs at his jokes and distracts Zevran enough for the assassin to occasionally lay off him.

Her fingers are still touching the wall. She’s been idly running her hand along it as she walks, the way he used to see some of the children in Redcliffe do. She does it with walls and sometimes, when she’s sitting, she’ll lay her palms flat on the floor and close her eyes. It’s brief, not the kind of thing you’d notice if you didn’t know her well, if you weren’t looking for it - and he’s been looking for it. Not that he’s been watching her, or anything. All right, maybe he has. A little. Not much. It’s not his fault that she’s gorgeous, and has he mentioned that she laughs at his jokes? 

She looks up at him, squinting a little in the afternoon sun - he forgets sometimes that she’s still not entirely used to contending with it. “Huh?”

“Why do you do that?” When she frowns at him, he half-heartedly runs his hand along the wall in an imitation of her earlier movements.

She raises her eyebrows in understanding. “Oh. It’s the Stone, y’know?”

“I…” He tries to grasp that and fails. “Not really?”

She sighs. “Right, so you have Andraste and the Maker. And if you lot want to feel, uh, connected to them, you pray to them.” She frowns. “Wait, is it the Maker you pray to or Andraste?” With a shake of her head, she looks at the ground and mutters, “Shit, forget I said anything.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. “It’s both. Depending on what you’re praying about. You were saying?”

She goes even squintier, and he tries in vain not to find it sweet. “That sounds confusing.”

He snorts. “What, more confusing than a dozen paragons?”

“Nah, there’s like…” She half-heartedly starts to count on her fingers and gives up. “There’s more than that, anyway. I’ve been reading about this stuff and getting my head around it is… Yeah.” She sighs. “Fuck it, that’s not my point. So you guys pray, and that makes sense. We kinda pray too, but it’s different. But as well, sometimes we just take a minute.” She seems to search for the words, then she nods towards the wall and says, “C’mere.”

He glances over his shoulder at Zevran and Leliana, who are following them at a distance and watching all this with increasing amusement. He trusts Nat, though, and he gives a mental shrug. Why not? He approaches her and the wall slowly, giving her a quizzical look.

“Look.” Without any warning, she takes his hand. He stares at her, and spends a wasted few seconds marvelling at how, even small and rough as they are, her fingers seem to fit so perfectly around his. How right the contact feels. Wait, is his palm clammy? Should he have wiped it beforehand? (Ha, before _hand._ Maker, he’s rambling again.) She presses his palm to the wall. “Solid,” she says. “Rough.”

He waits for her to explain further, and when she doesn’t, he says, “… Yes?”

“It’s the Stone. For me, it’s a way I can feel the Stone. It’s - Everyone’s afraid of losing their Stone-sense up here. I mean, there’s just so much  _sky,_ and most times I like it, but every once in a while I need to feel _something._ So when I need it, I’ve got the Stone. Keeps me grounded. It’s  _thank you_ , and  _you_   _make me feel safe,_ and all that other stuff I can’t say out loud _._  And it’s not like the Stone gives a shit about some casteless Duster, but you know what I mean?”

He thinks about the worry token he turns over in his fingers when he’s thinking, his mother’s amulet, Natia beside him like a beacon he can turn to when he’s afraid and needs to find something steady. “I think I do,” he replies, and means it.

She gives him that wide, warm, impossibly sweet smile. It’s the one that makes his heart turn over in his chest and his feet stumble; it’s the one he dreams about on the better nights. He returns it, aware that he probably looks hopelessly daft grinning like an idiot. Sure enough, he hears Leliana stifle something that sounds like a giggle.

He realises after a moment too long that Natia’s hand is still on top of his, and that he’s turned his hand palm-up to weave his fingers with hers. He takes it back as gently as he can, clearing his throat and feeling the heat rise in his cheeks.

She gives him  _that_ smile again, and then they’re walking on, the moment all but forgotten.

* * *

In the months after he tells her she’s beautiful and she kisses him like she’s afraid to let him go, she starts touching him. It’s just in small ways: she’ll take his hand when she can, give him a playful nudge or elbow when they’re joking around, run her hands through his hair and rest against him when they’re sitting together. Because he’s so thick-skulled, it takes him a while to notice (in all fairness, he’s pretty touchy-feely himself), and even longer to put the pieces together.

They’re lying in his tent - no,  _their_ tent _,_ it’s their tent now, and he can’t believe it either. She’s lying with her head on his chest. He’s running his hand over her shoulder, enjoying the warmth and the softness of her, the fact that a woman like this is with a lucky fool like him. She places her hand over his, holds him where he is and threads their fingers together.

He pauses, suddenly remembering that moment on the road.

_Thank you. You make me feel safe._

He smiles at her and says, “I wasn’t a wall, last time I checked.”

Her eyes widen slightly, an expression almost like she’s been caught out flitting across her face. Then she grins at him and gives him a poke. Hard. She makes sure to get the muscle. “Oh, I dunno. You’re pretty solid.”

“ _Ow.”_ He mock-glares at her. “I should probably take that as a compliment, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, settling back down against him. “Definitely.”

He’s already half-asleep when he hears her say softly, “Keeps me grounded.”

**Author's Note:**

> Partly inspired by [a Tumblr post.](http://undead-potatoes.tumblr.com/post/102227125299/dwarves-getting-sunburned-after-their-first-day-in)


End file.
